“Mrs. Fentolin,” he said, “I have
been a good many years making up my mind. Now
that I have done so, I do not think that any one will
keep Esther from me.”

She looked at him a little pitifully, a little wistfully.
Then, with a shrug of the shoulders, she turned round
to the piano and recommenced to play. Hamel
took his coat and hat from a servant who was waiting
in the hail and passed out into the night.

He walked briskly until he reached the Tower.
The wind had risen, but there was still enough light
to help him on his way. The little building
was in complete darkness. He opened the door
and stepped into the sitting-room, lit the lamp, and,
holding it over his head, went down the passage and
into the kitchen. Then he gave a start.
The lamp nearly slipped from his fingers. Kneeling
on the stone floor, in very much the same attitude
as he had found her earlier in the day, Hannah Cox
was crouching patiently by the door which led into
the boat-house, her face expressionless, her ear turned
towards the crack. She was still listening.

CHAPTER XXXI

Hamel set down the lamp upon the table. He glanced
at the little clock upon the dresser; it was a quarter
past ten. The woman had observed his entrance,
although it seemed in no way to have discomposed her.

“Do you know the time, Mrs. Cox?” he asked.
“You ought to have been home hours ago.
What are you doing there?”

She rose to her feet. Her expression was one
of dogged but patient humility.

“I started for home before nine o’clock,
sir,” she told him, “but it was worse
than ever to-night. All the way along by the
sea I seemed to hear their voices, so I came back.
I came back to listen. I have been listening
for an hour.”

Hamel looked at her with a frown upon his forehead.

“Mrs. Cox,” he said, “I wish I could
understand what it is that you have in your mind.
Those are not real voices that you hear; you cannot
believe that?”

“Not real voices,” she repeated, without
the slightest expression in her tone.

“Of course not! And tell me what connection
you find between these fancies of yours and that room?
Why do you come and listen here?”

“I do not know,” she answered patiently.

“You must have some reason,” he persisted.

“I have no reason,” she assured him, “only
some day I shall see behind these doors. Afterwards,
I shall hear the voices no more.”

She was busy tying a shawl around her head.
Hamel watched her, still puzzled. He could not
get rid of the idea that there was some method behind
her madness.

“Tell me—­I have found you listening
here before. Have you ever heard anything suspicious?”